My Sunshine
by Etiquette Darling
Summary: A series of random prompts: #9 Objective: Artie Abrams liked pro-con lists. They helped organise things. They allowed him to make decisions efficiently and as objectively as possible.
1. Prompt 1: Defiant

AN: Welcome to my attempt at an obnixious amount of prompt related oneshots and drabbles. They will be centering around the glee club mostly and hopefully I wont focus entirely on my favourite characters. Rating is subject to change.

Prompt #1: Defiant.

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Once upon a time there was a girl called Brittany.

Brittany was not a smart girl.

She liked dancing and skirts that twirled and believed anything if you told her twice.

("The sound of the balloon popping makes the angels cry." "Really?" "Yes Brittany, Really" "okay!")

That was probably why she was a cheerio.

That and after a particularly fun gym class in her freshman year (in which she was fully exploring the joys of cartwheels and attempting back flips for the first time) Coach Sylvester walked up to her and told her she was the newest member of the cheerleading squad. Santana said that nobody turned down an invitation from Sue Sylvester so Brittany had said yes (even if she wasn't quite sure why).

Being a cheerio meant she got to wear a flippy skirt and cartwheel all the time and nobody threw food at her at lunch time (or in the corridors between classes, or in home ec.). Brittany like being a cheerio.

Then she had somehow managed to get herself caught up in Glee Club.

(She was still hazy on the details but she figured that if she had three people glaring down at her and saying things like 'you do want to maintain your position on the cheerio's don't you?' and 'Brit, you don't want me to bring up that incident at the party a few weeks ago and have everyone shun you permanently do you?' and 'come on Britney it'll be fun and maybe we'll make that Rachel girl cry' she better do as they asked.)

In glee club she didn't get yelled out, she got to goof off to Beyonce on some weekends and was able to have slushies that one time Finn brought them in as a 'I'm sorry' offering (she thought they worked a lot better than the cookies Rachel had baked when Mr. Schuester had started a boy band but didn't say anything because she was eating processed sugar and not getting yelled at).

Brittany was not smart, but she was happy.

So when she saw that Artie was sitting alone at lunch (away from his usual table, occasionally staring in disbelief towards Tina, shaking his head and returning to his food) she figured that he should be happy too (plus Quinn was out sick and Santana was frantically texting on her phone so probably wouldn't notice if she talked to him).

"Hey Artie" She sat down next to him looking over to his lunch and not noticing that he was looking more confused than she had ever seen him (he had tater tots, Brittany loved tater tots).

"Hi Brittany, Santana send you over to do her evil bidding?"

"What?"

"Never mind"

There was a lengthy beat of silence and Artie scratched the back of his neck while she narrowed her eyes slightly. She thought this was going to be a lot easier. She thought of the things that made her happy: Flippy skirts, (no, even if he wasn't a boy he wouldn't be able to stand up and enjoy their flippiness) Dancing, (that probably wouldn't go down too well in the cafeteria, even she was smart enough to know that), her fuzzy topped pen and people telling her she was pretty (which didn't happen much when she hung out with Santana, but mike did say it one time after glee rehearsal, that had definitely made her happy).

Her eyes fell on his wheelchair before the travelled quickly to the shiniest part of the mechanism.

"I like the sparkly lights on your wheels"

"Thankyou?"

Another beat of silence before another idea dawned on her.

"You study a lot right?" she started brightening up as her plan became fully formed.

"Yeah?" In his confusion everything Artie said was ending up as a question.

She fished through her bag enthusiastically "well you can borrow my pen" it was fuzzy and multicoloured and it was more interesting than most of the school work she did so she brought it to make classes more entertaining "The colours make it more fun and it used to light up and sing 'you are my sunshine' before I dropped it in my bathtub"

Artie didn't need another pen, he had plenty (that didn't light up and do anything as far as he knew) but he could recognise an olive branch when it was offered. Plus, Brittany was looking pretty pleased with herself as she pulled out her lunch.

"Thanks"

At the other end of the cafeteria Santana seemed to have noticed Brittany's absence.

(And was a little confused as to when the blonde had suddenly developed ninja skills, Artie liked to think)

Brittany hadn't noticed Santana (actually she couldn't see that far in front of her, she needed glasses but lost them on the first week of freshmen year, plus, Quinn said they made her look like a loser) and pulled out a wilted salad and some water.

"Did you want an oatmeal cookie? My mom made them" he asked offering the brown paper bag.

She glanced surreptitiously around the room (not that it made a difference, everyone more than 5 feet away from her was fuzzy) before sneaking one out of the bag and taking a bite.

"These are awesome" she started before a looming presence appeared over her right shoulder (she thought it was her right, she was pretty sure anyway).

"Brittany what are you doing? And why are you sitting with _him_?"

Sometimes Brittany forgot who she was meant to be friends with (the Glee club thing seemed to make this more confusing) so when she was asked this she looked confused for a second.

She was about to answer 'eating an oatmeal cookie' and 'because he looked sad so I leant him my favourite pen' when it dawned on her.

Oatmeal cookies were not eaten by cheerio's, and they didn't lend their pens to people unless they were cute footballers or basketballers (but not hockey or lacrosse, they weren't high enough). She found this a little strange as she sat there, Artie would definitely get more use out of her pen, and he'd probably even use it to write on stuff other than the desks.

"I leant him my pen" she looked up at Santana before smiling at Artie.

"Why?" If Brittany had looked up she would have seen the blatant stink eye that both she and Artie were on the receiving end of.

"Because he likes studying" the words were spoken as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She sent another smile at Artie and opened her bottled water, ignoring (more to the point, not noticing) the look of bewildered disbelief on her friends face.

Once upon a time there was a girl called Brittany.

Brittany was not a smart girl.

But she was happy.

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Reviews are like my crack.


	2. Prompt 2: Powder

AN: Prompt 2: Powder.

I think I should start using the word 'prompt' very loosely, in my initial idea for this it was a LOT more obvious.

Disclaimer: Along with not owning Glee I also do not own Les Miserables and any song lyrics featured in this oneshot. I'm an 18-year-old who is slowly but surely running out of money, the most expensive thing I own are my jeans.

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Slushies, Rachel decided, were easy enough to deal with if you were aptly prepared. If you bought travel sachets of shampoo, a spare outfit (argyle cardigan, blouse, pleated skirt and ballet flats today) a towel and standard makeup necessities to school they really weren't that hard at all.

Rachel Berry was always prepared for a slushy facial, to a point where her initial reaction to ice cold corn syrup leaking into her bra and stinging her eyes (causing her mascara to run terribly) was not complete and utter humiliation but a devastatingly resigned sigh as she attempted to rid her mouth of the blueberry flavouring.

All it took, to deal with it that was, was a plan of action. And if there was one thing that Rachel excelled at (besides great performance quality and a stellar voice) it was creating plans of action.

Step one: Wipe face, remove all slushy and makeup residue.

Step two: Rinse hair (and wash if necessary), blow-dry at the electric hand dryer provided in the bathroom

Step three: Remove all slushy afflicted clothing (and try not to cry)

Step four: Replace clothing with new outfit

Step five: Apply flawless natural makeup.

It really was an excellent plan; she had managed to get the time from slushy attack to returning to class down to less than twenty minutes the other week.

She looked down at her makeup case, hair freshly blow dried, clothing freshly changed and face free of makeup before reverting her eyes to the mirror (to a scrubbed clean peaky little face with big eyes and a small involuntary frown). Her eyebrows were drawn in a small curve before she placed her hands on the edge of the sink and stared herself down (if she didn't take crap from Quinn Fabray then she most certainly wasn't going to take it from herself).

"Rachel" she started sternly "You are not going to cry" this seemed to do the trick and the swelling feeling in her chest subsided enough so that she could begin to expertly reapply her makeup.

Rachel liked to pretend when this happened, when she stood in the (usually) empty bathroom, that she wasn't doing her makeup for a second time in one day because some idiot with daddy issues had decided to empty a drink on her. No, she was putting final touches on her face in the intermission of her Tony winning musical (perhaps a revival of Les Miserables or Rent) running through lines and absentmindedly humming the next song on the programme under her breath.

"_Don't you fret Monsieur Marius, I don't feel any pain, a little fall of rain, can hardly hurt me now_"

The slow backing music played through her head as she quickly swiped her blush brush over her faceadding a pretty, rosy hue to her face. Of course, had she been playing Mimi or Eponine she probably would have less than attractive makeup choices (street urchin and heroin addicted stripper had never been particularly flattering looks on the prettiest of people) but that didn't matter.

"_You're here, that's all I need to know_"

The song was a sad one (as were most of the songs in Les Mis) but it was doing it's part in improving her mood. The stupid footballers were just residually jealous of her because unlike them she was getting out of Lima, she had talent and drive and she was going to go to Julliard and taking New York by storm before winning a few Tonies and retiring from the stage and dabbling in directing for a few years (perhaps even staring her own clothing line) while they were going to spend the rest of their lives working in hardware stores and dead end jobs regretting the day they ever said Rachel Berry was anything less than spectacular.

The song continued playing in her head and she breathed deeply, sending a self satisfied and unfaltering smile at her reflection in the mirror. She needed just one more thing.

The door to the girls bathroom swung open and a few giggling juniors walked in glancing over at Rachel who's hands were half submerged in her makeup bag and her eyes still staring straight at her own face. The giggles increased slightly as they apparently recalled the earlier scene (the evidence of it still sitting in a laundry bag at her feet). Rachel heard the word slushy whispered before she completely returned her attention to herself quickly dabbing the translucent setting powder over her face. Her own form of defiance against the slushies, her makeup was going to stay on for the rest of the day if she had anything to do with it.

_And you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close_

The overwhelming urge to lock herself in a toilet cubicle arose in her chest one last time before she determinedly zipped up her makeup case and gathered her things.

Slushies, Rachel knew, were easy enough to deal with if you were aptly prepared. That didn't always mean having a laundry bag and the right makeup but that didn't stop her from trying.

_And rain will help the flowers grow_

At the door she braced herself, taking a moment to revel in her previous fantasy. She was a tony award winning performer, she was spectacular and she wasn't going to stop it any time soon.

She swung the door open, and walked back on stage.

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Eh a bit cliched and I'm not sure I did Rachel justice in all her annoying self confident but heart-breakingly lonely goodness. Either way: REVIEW PLEASE!


	3. Prompt 3: Grateful

**AN:** So basically I wanted to post this (just a short one) for two reasons a) if I do this any later it will become completely AU and b) I always wanted there to be some sort of epic friendship between these two.

In response to the question posed by mag721: I just googled prompt lists and these came up.

I should probably mention that along with not owning any of the glee characters (if I did this epic friendship would be cannon) the prompt list is also not mine.

**Prompt #3:** Grateful

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Tina didn't look angry. That was a plus. She didn't look pissed off or smug, and she didn't look like she pitied him which was a nice change from the big eyes Rachel had been throwing around the room a few minutes before.

(That wasn't all that surprising to him; he figured having some serious lady wood for wheelchair kid must be like having the pity beaten out of you)

In Tina's hand was an icepack, held between finger and thumb, wrapped in a towel and dripping slowly onto the floor.

Through the doors to the hallway, he heard the muffled sounds of Quinn sobbing and the not so muffled sounds of Finn yelling. (He had been told pretty strictly that it would be 'for the best if he could wait inside until Finn cooled down a little' by the guidance counsellor)

He could taste blood and it felt like his right eye was trying to take place in a dramatic escape from the rest of his skull so he took the ice pack and laid it over his face, resisting the urge to hiss at the pain.

He vaguely registered someone sitting in the chair next to him. She was wiping her now damp hand on a black skirt and casting a sidelong glance at him as he sank further into his seat.

She didn't look like she pitied him.

She didn't look like she hated him.

He pressed the icepack a little firmer onto his eye and fixed his gaze on a spot on the floor as the volume from the hallway peaked.

"Thanks"

"No problem"

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Done and done.

"Vogue magazine says reviews boost energy levels and brighten the complexion"


	4. Prompt 4: Decent

**AN:** This is very heavily inspired by JackieKennedy's most recent prompt on her collection of stories "say a little prayer" (read it live it love it, you will be all sorts of amazed).

Also: Part of me is on a bit of a Quick kick (ah for unintentional rhyming) so don't be surprised if the story every writer and their mother (no seriously, if mine had any skill with prose she'd totally be writing this stuff), and probably their cat, has written popping up later.

**Prompt #4: Decent**

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Finn was a decent guy. He was polite, he didn't pressure her, he wasn't rude, he didn't have a stupid haircut and he didn't describe his conquests in detail when he knew for a fact a number of people could overhear him (actually, he didn't have any conquests to speak of, unless you counted Rachel Berry, but she was easy to charm, sing one solo bat your eyelids and you've got her for at least a week). He walked her to her front door after dates; he slept on the couch when she moved in. He didn't swear around her. He was a decent, decent guy.

And she was the idiot who took a look at all of that decent, all of that sweetness, that dopey naivety (that only he could make charming) and decided to take a massive sledge hammer to it.

(She was pretty sure if you looked hard enough you could still see the debris sitting on the choir room floor)

_I'm going to do everything I can to be a good dad to our baby _

Quinn had never written out specific criteria about what made a guy decent (that was a pastime she associated with Rachel Berry far too much to ever actually partake in herself) but she was pretty certain that sexting, dipping, having sex with his best friend's girlfriend and insisting on having a mohawk expressly excluded Puck from ever being considered as such.

But he had been there, offering her what she wanted from Finn from the beginning. Jumping out of that tiny pigeon holed role she had cast him in, the deceitful jerk who seduced innocent virginal cheerleaders suffering from momentary lapses in self-esteem who betrayed best friends left right and centre whilst clad in his iconic letterman jacket.

(Come see him in your local cinema today!)

Her hand ran over the expanding dome of her stomach and although it was self pitying (and a little pathetic and clichéd, she was sitting in a toilet cubicle hiding) she felt the overwhelming urge to cry rise in her throat and sit teasingly just behind her eyes.

There had always been a problem with the role she had cast Puck in. The abusive jerk cliché seemed perfect and she had continued for weeks trying to convince herself that it was. (It was just impossible to ignore the ghost of his hand brushing her hair off her forehead in a home ec room, the stifled smile at one of his cruder jokes weeks before it had happened, whenever he looked at her.)

Finn was the kind hearted quarter back. The decent guy.

Puck was undefinable.

She was the hypocrite who screwed them both over.

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Oh the angst. Not sure if I over did it a little bit on this one, I'm hoping my fics get a little more on the fun side after this.

Remember:

"Reviews are a important part of my [your] post fic ritual"


	5. Prompt 5: Union

**AN**: I actually kind of love glee because it is one of the only shows where I'm not partial to particular ships (Puckleberry, Quick, Finchel, Tartie, Purt, I actually read a Mike Chang [other Asian] and Kurt one recently which I sort of loved), however that doesn't necessarily mean I'm any good at writing them.

So as a quick Warning: If you do not like Finchel, avert your eyes. If you are adverse to hand holding avert your eyes. If you don't like overuse of parenthesis avert your eyes (actually: seriously what are doing reading this? Go and watch youtube or something)

**Prompt #5:** Union

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Every now and then Finn got a feeling like someone had punched him in the gut.

Or like Karovsky had just thrown another slushy at him.

Or like Karovsky had thrown a slushy at him _and then_ punched him in the gut.

He ended up feeling winded, humiliated and sort of like he wanted to curl up into a ball and cry for a little while. A big change from his initial urge to slam his fist into the side of Puck's head until he didn't get up anymore (truth be told that feeling died pretty quickly after sectionals, now he was just ignoring him).

So whenever a mohawk or a familiar head of blonde walked past him in a hallway (never together, he didn't know if that meant anything) and he got the winded feeling and he wanted to cry and throw up he would gaze right past them. One of the benefits of his height, he guessed, was that it made it very easy to pretend people didn't exist.

Unless one of those people was Rachel Berry.

She was really short and everything (it probably hurt her neck to look at his face for too long) so it probably should have been easier to ignore her had he wanted to. Except that it totally wasn't because she talked like _all the time_, and if she wasn't talking she was singing, or smiling or something else that was impossible not to notice.

Like in glee when he had been dancing to that Kelly Clarkson song, he had decided to stare at Artie because, hey, he was doing one of those stompy-wheel steps and that was pretty cool (and if he looked past him he would want to start crying again because he could see blonde hair and a baby bump that had nothing to do with him). A hand had found its way into his and he had looked down to see Rachel, smiling her crazy swim fan smile, singing and dragging him into the centre of the group for the Big Finish.

("We're the soloists Finn, centre stage positioning is paramount in having an effective ending, it brings the whole group together and gives the number a sense of unity and cohesion that couldn't be achieved in any other way and…", she had kept going after that, not that she had needed to, he was pretty sure he agreed with her)

The song had ended and in the moment of satisfied breathlessness that followed the end of every performance Rachel's hand was still in his.

"Guy's, that was just, amazing" Mr. Schue stood up from his seat "How about you all take five, relax, and I'll be right back"

Finn took a moment to look down at his hand (the one that was still actively holding Rachel's) and felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he looked at the picture they made. They were mismatched hands (his were grubby and sweaty and hers were little and had light purple nail polish on them) but they looked nice together. Of course that could have been because he liked holding her hand; it was probably skewing his judgement a little.

The glance down had only taken a second, and he was pretty sure no one had noticed (except for maybe Santana, who was giving him the stink eye, though he wasn't sure why and he was pretty certain that it was like her default expression or something because she _always_ seemed to be doing it) so when he felt her hand squeeze his slightly he allowed a grin to further spread onto his face as Mr. Schue practically sprinted towards the door.

Rachel Berry was impossible to ignore, but that was probably for the best, he didn't really want to ignore her anyway.

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Oh the joys of fluff. It probably counts as a bad thing if I roll my eyes when I'm writing something doesn't it?

"Reviews are like mothers milk to them, without it, their bones don't grow"


	6. Prompt 6: Cleansed

**AN:** So this one is a little on the inappropriate side so the ratings been raised, it's about sex, and more to the point, Santana and how he feels about sex (and Puck and to some extent Rachel Berry).

One think I always notice in Fanfics with Santana is that people either pile her up with the angstastic past or just give her no depth what so ever ('but like, she's just EVIILL!!1!!onehundred and eleven!')anyway what I was hoping with this is that I portrayed her in a balanced way. Feedback would be awesome because I actually want to further develop what I think Santana is like.

Anyway ramble done, onto the Fic:

**Prompt #6: Cleansed**

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It probably should have struck Santana a little odd that her sex life was so drastically based on a philosophy determined by Rachel Berry.

She did want sex just as badly as boys did (but probably not as badly as Puck, _nobody_ wanted it as badly as Puck). So she figured (as she felt his hands roam under the hem of her cheerio's uniform) that these little sexcapades, which had started a little painfully but now were just mind-blowingly fun, were totally legit.

She just tried not to think about the fact that it was Rachel Berry (who probably only said it because she was never going to get any like _ever_) who sparked this change. Of course it wasn't hard to stop herself from thinking about it, especially when she was pressed up in the back of her car, or Puck's Truck or in her room when her dad was going to be home in a half hour and her underwear was scattered on the floor somewhere. Understandably when that was happening her brain was shooting off enough of those neuron things to keep her distracted (Puck, in all his horny annoying teenaged boyishness, _really_ knew what he was doing with his hands amoungst other things).

"My dad's going to be home soon"

She pushed her hair (now out of its ponytail and just a little bit sweaty) above her head on the pillow and glanced over at the Mohawked boy who had just rolled off her.

He snorted cockily "So?"

"So" She starts, pushing up to her elbow, her hair falling back down and sticking to her neck uncomfortably "He owns a shot gun" (he doesn't but it seemed like an appropriately terrifying way of getting the teenaged boy out of her bed so she could wash the sex off her)

Santana had never seen a room clear so quickly.

He sat up, mentioned something about dip and pool cleaning quickly got changed and with a rough kiss to the lips (and a handful of ass) he left.

Sitting up, swinging her own legs over the edge of her bed and squishing her toes into her carpet, she took inventory.

(Spankies beside the door, underwear and bra pushed up to the end of the bed, Cheerios top by her feet and was that…one of Puck's socks slung over her desk chair?)

Before she moved to organise the mess (which more or less meant pushing it into a pile and dumping it all into the laundry hamper outside her room) Santana took a moment to let out a self satisfied sigh.

She did love sex. She loved how it made her feel (and not just in an orgasm, G-spot hands in all the right places way). She loved that for that time at least, all of Puck's attention was on her, he wasn't staring at another Cheerio (the one with the perfect blonde hair and the gold cross hung around her neck like some sort of prudish medallion), and he wasn't inappropriately flirting with the women who he cleaned the pools for. He was with her.

She wasn't stupid (Brittany filled that stereotype too well for her to even consider intruding) and she wasn't stuck in a little fantasy world where everything worked out in her favour (where her name rhymed with her boyfriend's and she knew without fail that she would be prom queen come senior year). She knew that to Puck she wasn't a first priority but that was fine, he wasn't a first priority for her either.

Actually as she thought about it (listing her priorities in her head) he didn't even really come up in the top ten.

(She didn't feel bad about that though, she was almost certain that his top ten included his truck, polishing the rocket, buying dip, Quentin Tarentino films and that fight club thing she had heard in muttering about with Mike Chang before she had demanded that he drive her home that day)

Still sitting on the edge of her bed she rolled her head around trying to crack her neck whilst simultaneously basking in that wonderful post sex feeling (the one which most teenagers, and adults for that matter spent snuggling or spooning or whatever the hell it was).

Her mind flittered to an image of herself and Puck engaged in a post coital snuggle session, his hand drawing patterns on her bare shoulders as she gazed up adoringly at him.

In her mind she could even imagine the bad chick flick soundtrack playing in the background.

The image caused her face to scrunch up momentarily. The idea of either of them snuggling or looking at _anyone_ adoringly was just; she shook her head trying to banish the image from her thoughts, so, _so_ weird. She was still sitting on the end of her bed, her sheets draping over her otherwise bare body when she came to the conclusion that the image wasn't leaving her mind any time soon (and oh god, had she just pictured rose petals and candles? Now she just wanted to hurl).

Her hands came down to the edge of the mattress and she gazed at the single sock Puck had left behind, still draped over her desk chair. She cleared her throat

If she didn't stop thinking about this she was going to have to break up with him.

And good god did she need a shower.

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**Anyway:** Cliched? Boring? Annoying? Unrealistic? Review away.


	7. Prompt 7: Go

**AN: **And finally Kurt makes an appearance, not much to say about this, except its set before the pilot episode.

**Prompt #7: Go**

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Kurt sat behind the wheel of his car. His beautiful, beautiful car.

He didn't want to leave it.

A few feet away he could see a congregation of jocks (a Mohawk stood out the most, followed by the familiar beautifully boyish face of Finn Hudson). They were standing too close for their attack that morning to be anything near subtle, but then expecting subtlety from the peer group that turned 'slushy' into a verb was probably hoping for too much.

He straightened his jacket (Mark Jacob's new collection), adjusted the strap of his bag and looked at himself in his rear-view mirror.

_What are you waiting for Kurt?_ A voice sounded in his head that sounded far too close to that of his father for comfort, he considered staying in his car and inwardly pondering what this meant psychologically even, if procrastination was bad for his skin (he read it in a blog once), the last weeks cafeteria leftovers were probably worse.

_Get out of your car_

His hand was on his door handle, bracing himself.

_Go._

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_Reviews more or less make my life. 


	8. Prompt 8: Shame

**AN:** So currently on a one shot/drabble kick (hence three in the span of 24 hours) so here's a little Quick to get you through your day/night.

**Prompt #8:** Shame

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Puck, Quinn had decided, was very good looking.

It was a shame about his personality.

And his hair.

And the fact that he was Jewish. She wasn't anti-Semitic or anything but if there was one thing Quinn knew it was that Fabray women didn't get interested in anything other than 'good Christian men' like the one her sister had married (Jason Yates, possibly the most boring person on the planet).

She wondered if (after watching that grope fest put on by the Glee club at assembly) Finn was still considered a 'good Christian'. Se didn't even want to think about the things that those so called dance moves had been _representing_ or just where that Rachel girl (the one who from that point would be referred to as 'That Thing' because of it and her blasphemous outburst at that weeks celibacy club meeting) had been putting her hands.

She chose to ignore that Finn's hands had been in some pretty interesting places themselves.

So instead she looked at Puck, who, as she had realised earlier was very good looking (minus the hair and the personality and the whole non-Christian thing).

He also seemed to understand the importance of status and enjoyed throwing slushies at The Thing and hilariously appropriate times.

She had also noticed him looking her way recently (not that she had looked back and half smiled before turning back to her Spanish quiz or anything because she would not do that, _she wasn't that kind of girl_) .

He looked back at her in the hallway and she decided it was a shame she had a boyfriend (and about Puck's personality, and hair and well, you know), that the role had been cast by an appropriately naïve and popular boy (one without daddy issues, a truck that broke down constantly and a questionable pool cleaning business) because for all his flaws Puck _was_ good looking and would never join a show choir without her permission (or at all for that matter).

It really was. A shame that is.

She did need someone to clean her hot tub though.

And that couldn't hurt.

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**ALSO A NOTE ON THE END PART:**

In my mind Drizzle was conceived due to an instance of Puck cleaning Quinn's hot tub (which sounds like some sort of dirty euphemism now that I phrase it like that) or at least I imagine he had cleaned it at some stage (Lima is a small town, they run in the same social circles, so on and so fourth), and that could have been some sort of bonding experience for them on the road to conceiving the Drizzlette.

Anyway that's basically all I have to say: Don't let the review button hit you on the way out (seriously, please?).


	9. Prompt 9: Objective

**AN:** Just a short Artie fic, I was going to make it longer and have a nice dose of Tartie in there but the romantic part of my jumped ship after I watched Pulp Fiction so you guys get this instead. Also, sort of wrote this in about 20 minutes so sorry if it isn't quite up to scratch.

**Prompt #9:** Objective

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Artie Abrams liked pro-con lists. They helped organise things. They allowed him to make decisions efficiently and as objectively as possible (even though he knew that decision making on an emotional level would probably be more suited for that feeling in the back of his throat than a list on a piece of ruled paper written in small messy handwriting in one of his 50c bulk buy pens).

For example:

Pro of being a member of Glee and Chess club (and having that short stint in Mathletes that he'd rather not talk about)

His participation not only stimulated him creatively and analytically but involvement in school clubs looked excellent on college transcripts (He dreamt of going to one of the lesser Ivies and maybe if he pulled the cripple card in his personal essay he might get in)

Con of being a member of Glee and chess club (and having that short stint in Mathletes that he'd rather not talk about)

Patriotic wedgies. Slushies. And Swirlies.

(and that one time he had been locked in a port-a-potty. But he figured that was more to do with the fact he couldn't physically run away from Noah Puckerman and his lackeys than his over participation in less than cool extracurricular activities)

Pro Con lists. They were definitely good for something.

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**I know the using his inability to walk in a college transcript seems a little low but it seems like on the show every member of glee club has the ability to sink a little to get what they want, so why couldn't Artie get in on the fun?**

**So comments? Questions? Adoring love mail? Flames? I'm starved for attention so I'm really not picky.**


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